


The Hunt Gone Girl-Shaped

by Viridescence



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, Genderswap, M/M, girl!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-22
Updated: 2012-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-29 23:24:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/325319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridescence/pseuds/Viridescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your typical monster-turns-Sam-into-a-girl fic. Or, how Dean DIDN'T get to play with Sam and his shiny new vibrator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hunt Gone Girl-Shaped

**Author's Note:**

> **Title:** The Hunt Gone Girl-Shaped  
>  **Author:** viridescence/kaleidoscopeheart  
>  **Fandom:** Supernatural FPS, Wincest  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Word Count:** ~5,500  
>  **Warnings:** girl!Sam, genderbending, established relationship  
>  **Summary:** Your typical monster-turns-Sam-into-a-girl fic. Or, how Dean _didn’t_ get to play with Sam and his shiny new vibrator.  
>  **Author’s Note:** I never really pictured myself writing Wincest, and certainly not of the girl!Sam variety. *facepalm* The things I do for my friends—you’re all such bad influences, and I love you for it. ;-) This is a one-shot ficlet written as a fandom_stocking gift for [lexicale](lexicale.livejournal.com) (posted in several comments [here](http://fandom-stocking.livejournal.com/243492.html)). I’ve made some minor edits to it since posting it there, cleaned it up a little bit. Lexi made it clear that in no world would there ever be enough girl!Sam fics, so I decided to give it a shot for her stocking fic, because I ADORE YOU, LEXI. ♥♥♥ I really struggled with this story, because it’s the first time I’ve ever written Dean/Sam, and I don’t think I’ve read nearly enough Wincest or genderbending Wincest to have a good feel for the characters or know how people typically handle this trope. I still sort of hate it and hope I haven’t botched it all up or made it cracky because I haven’t done this before. *bites lip*  
>  **Author’s Note Part Deux:** I picture this taking place some time during the latter half of Season 2, after Meg possessed Sam but before the finale with Sam dying and Dean’s deal. Also, thanks so much to Pimmie for the beta work on this. I really appreciated all of your help, Pimmie. ♥  
>  Also posted on LJ [here](http://viridescence.livejournal.com/201766.html) and DW [here](http://kaleidoscopeheart.dreamwidth.org/227433.html).  
>  **Disclaimer:** Not mine, as much as I’d like them to be. The Winchesters belong to Eric Kripke, Warner Brothers, and the CW, and I’m just having a little crazy pretend fun with the characters. No profit is being made, no offense intended.

  


**The Hunt Gone Girl-Shaped**   


It was supposed to be a routine hunt. A simple dispatch of a pagan fertility god that was snatching and killing (and Dean didn’t want to know what else it was doing before it got around to the killing) teenagers who were just past puberty.

But then, he mused, there was no such thing as a simple, routine hunt anymore. Dean looked up from where he was wheezing for breath and trying to get his diaphragm to work to see his brother sailing across the room and colliding with the wall, feet dangling a foot off the ground. Sam hung there, struggling against the god’s power, and Dean’s heart lurched in his chest the familiar way it always did when Sam was in trouble. Which was often—kid was gonna give Dean a heart attack.

The god snarled at Dean as he held Sam up with one hand. It was in the form of a fifteen-year-old boy, lithe muscles and fresh skin. It sort of reminded Dean of how Sam looked when he was a teenager, all coltish, limbs too long for its body.

Sam’s eyes met Dean’s from across the room, and Dean could tell exactly what he was thinking. _Tossed against a wall_ again? _This is getting to be a regular thing. I’ll distract and you come to the rescue._

Dean blinked his acknowledgement and made a point to appear grievously injured. Sam started struggling more, flailing.

“You think you’re the first hunters I’ve met?” The god was smirking now, his features twisted into evil glee. “I defeated them before, and I’ll defeat you, too.” Seeing Dean wheeze, it turned and looked at Sam, calculating.

Dean inched his hand toward the wood stake that he’d dropped when he fell, fingers clasping around the rough point to tug it into his grip. Breath was flowing easily into his chest now, and he took advantage of the god’s distraction to quietly rise to his feet.

“Yes, I think I’ll teach you the same lesson I taught the last hunter that attempted to kill me.” It pointed its finger at Sam and swirled it around, a soft blue light emanating toward Sam’s torso.

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise as he gave a little grunt, and a pit of worry and anger opened up in Dean’s stomach. What the fuck was it doing to his brother? Dean abandoned stealth and darted up behind the god, plunging the stake into its chest below the shoulder blade.

The thing yelped in surprise, then its features twisted into something grey and hideous. It flailed, swinging an elbow back and connecting solidly with Dean’s cheekbone.

White flared across Dean’s vision with the pain, and he fell backwards, landing hard on his ass. Dammit.

Light flashed behind the god’s eyes, and then it collapsed to the floor, motionless. Sam crumpled to the ground in a heap.

The sudden silence in the room made the worry in Dean’s gut tumble and build. “Sam? You alright?”

Sam was still quiet. From Dean’s position, all he could see was his brother’s mop of brown hair. Sam shifted and moaned, high pitched, but he didn’t get up, didn’t say anything.

“Sam!” Dean rushed to his brother’s side, terror rippling through him. “Sammy, you’d better be okay, or I’m gonna kick your giant ass.”

Sam just lay there, arm across his face.

Dean rolled him onto his back and then gasped.

Sam was… Sam wasn’t…

Dean hovered over his brother, momentarily stunned. “Oh, shit, Sam,” he breathed. “What the fuck?”

Sam didn’t answer him.

It was Sam, but he looked different. His face was rounder, softer features, nose smaller, lips fuller, lashes longer. Dean’s hands shook as he gingerly touched his brother, fingers pressing into Sam’s delicate throat to find a pulse, sighing in relief when he found one. He palmed Sam’s cheek, trembling as he struggled to comprehend this sudden change. Glancing down the rest of Sam’s body, Dean couldn’t make sense of the smaller frame. He ran his hands over Sam’s abdomen, pressed down his legs, probing for any injuries, trying to understand the changes he saw and felt in Sam’s body.

Instead of a broad chest and well-defined shoulders, there was a narrow, curved waist, round hips, and… breasts.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? He’d killed the thing that did this; how were they supposed to reverse it?

They needed to get the hell out of here and regroup. And figure out what the hell was going on and how to fix it. Dean picked his brother up, surprised when Sam’s weight was much less than he was expecting. Sam curled into Dean’s body, arm draped around his shoulders, unconsciously seeking comfort. Dean pressed his face into Sam’s hair and just breathed, reining in his bubbling panic.

His brother was… a woman. Son of a bitch.

* * *

Sam didn’t wake up until they were back to their motel room. Dean had laid him on one of the beds, sat down next to him, one hand on his leg, and then immediately dug out his phone to call Bobby. They needed help.

“Ugh, Dean?” Sam moaned, putting a hand to his head. His voice was higher than usual, but still low for a girl. He shifted on the bed, propping up one knee against Dean’s back.

Dean dropped the phone before he could connect the call. “How you feeling, Sammy?” Now that Sam was conscious, Dean could feel the relief pounding through him. It lightened his mood considerably, and suddenly this girl-Sam issue didn’t seem quite so dangerous. In fact, it was sort of hilarious.

Sam blinked at him blearily. “I dunno. Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

Big, buff sasquatch Sam was a _girl_. This was even better than the time Meg got all up inside him. “I always knew you were a girl, Sammy. I love being right.”

Seeing Sam unconscious had scared Dean more than he would ever admit. Seeing Sam as a woman was also terrifying. And sort of hot. Jesus, Sam made a beautiful woman.

Sam scowled at him, and yeah, that was the exact same bitch face Dean was used to. “Jerk.”

“Bitch.” Dean was grinning now, holding back hysteria. His brother was a _chick_ , a hot chick, and Dean had no idea what to do. Outside of fucking her. Him. Whatever. It would be a fun change from their usual sex life, that’s for certain.

Sam sat up then, and looked down at himself. His face transformed, a wrinkle appearing between his eyes as he held up his hands, staring at the long, delicate fingers, slender forearms. His mouth fell open. “Dean. What. The. Hell.”

Dean sniggered. “I wasn’t giving you shit, man. Woman. You’ve got boobs.”

Sam palmed his breasts, and then let out a high-pitched whine. “Dean?” Then a look of alarm flashed across his features. He shoved one hand down his pants and his entire body flinched. “DEAN! WHAT THE FUCK!”

Dean’s balls ached in sympathy. He was particularly fond of his balls, and of Sam’s. And as much as the idea of Sam having girl parts down there was intriguing, it wasn’t the same as Sam’s large cock. “Look, we’ll figure out what that thing did and fix it. I was just gonna call Bobby when you woke up.”

Sam didn’t seem to hear him. Instead, he scrambled up, wobbled on his feet, and lurched over to the mirror next to the bathroom.

Now that Sam was standing, Dean had a better view of his new form. Sam was still tall, though maybe three or four inches shorter than he had been previously. He was slender, athletic build, broad shoulders for a woman, like a female swimmer or gymnast. His jeans were hanging off of curved hips.

Sam tore his shirts off, and Dean was suddenly stunned at the sight of breasts.

“THIS IS NOT OKAY, DEAN! I HAVE TITS! IN NO WORLD IS THIS OKAY!” Sam whirled around to face Dean with his bare chest, breasts on full display. They were reasonably sized, probably B-cups, with small, perky nipples. Sam’s anti-possession tattoo curved forward at the bottom of the pentagram due to the swell of his breast. Dean could also see all of Sam’s scars, the one on the left side of his rib cage that Dean liked to lick on his way up to Sam’s nipple, the nearly faded marks on his forearms from the binding link Meg had used when she possessed him, the various thin white lines from being cut or sliced on during hunts.

“GODDAMMIT, DEAN, MY FACE IS UP HERE!”

Dean twitched out of his stare and looked up at his brother’s—sister’s?—livid face. Christ. “Let’s just call Bobby. And put a shirt on, for crying out loud.”

Sam spun around to his bag, huffing as he looked for a shirt. Dean ogled the curve of his—her?— spine before he searched out his phone to call Bobby, putting him on speaker.

“What did you idjits get yourself into now?” was Bobby’s greeting.

“What makes you think we got ourselves into something?” Dean was affronted.

“Because if you weren’t in trouble I wouldn’t hear from you for another day at least. You’d have taken out the monster and gone out for drinks to celebrate, and then you’d be hungover until tomorrow afternoon. Now what’s going on?”

Sam dropped down onto the bed in front of Dean, arms crossed in front of his chest. It pressed his breasts up nicely, his nipples poking through the thin t-shirt. Dean looked at them for a second, then up at Sam, who was glaring at him, and then turned his attention back to his phone.

“Okay, well we figured out what we were hunting. It was a Pagan fertility god.”

“And?”

“And we got it. But not before it did something to Sam.”

“What did it do to Sam?” Bobby asked, voice wary.

Sam continued to scowl. It made her lower lip pout out, and Dean was tempted to suck on it. “Um, well, Sam is not short for Samuel anymore. It’s short for Samantha.”

“Oh, _balls_.”

“Nope, no balls,” Dean corrected. “Not for Sam anymore.” He yelped when Sam kicked him in the shin.

“Is Sam there?”

“Yeah, Bobby.” Sam’s voice was obviously more feminine.

“Oh Jesus. You boys are forever up shit creek without a paddle.”

“What? Why?”

“This Pagan fertility god, was its MO kidnapping and killing young teenagers? Right after puberty? A boy and a girl at the same time?”

“Yes,” Dean supplied.

“And did it direct a blue light at Sam?”

Sam huffed. “Yes.”

It sounded like Bobby dropped the phone, because all Dean could hear was Bobby laughing hysterically in the background.

“I’m so glad you find this entertaining, Bobby. In the mean time, I have _girl parts_!”

Bobby came back to the phone, still wheezing slightly. “Yes, I _know_ it’s traumatic, Sam. Tell me exactly what happened.”

Dean recounted the events of the hunt gone girl-shaped, Sam jumping in to finish his sentences.

“Well, shit. That particular pagan god has done this before. It liked to teach men a lesson. Why it picked Sam and not you, Dean, I have no idea.”

Sam chuckled, and Dean shot him a glare.

Bobby sighed. “Well. What I know is that Sam being all girl-ified will wear off in about a week. _Unless_ , and this is critical, Sam, unless you have sex with a man. Because if you have sex, no amount of protection will keep you from getting pregnant. And then you’ll be a woman permanently.”

Sam made a strangled noise at the same time as Dean choked on his own spit. “ _What_?” Dean couldn’t get the image of a pregnant Sam out of his head. Jesus Christ.

“You heard me. No fucking unless you wanna get knocked up. Because you _will_ get knocked up. And I know that normally that wouldn’t be a problem for you, but this spell, it will make you want sex, Sam. You have to resist it.”

Dean looked up at Sam, their eyes meeting. Bobby didn’t know about their relationship, or if he did he never let on that he knew. But this was coming too close to the truth for comfort. “No problem, Bobby,” Dean said, false bravado.

Sam’s face turned calculating. “Hey Bobby, how do you know all of this? Usually you have to do some research for a few hours before you have an answer for us. But I haven’t heard you turn a single page of paper.”

There was a long moment of silence on Bobby’s end, and Dean connected the dots.

“Oh my god. It was you. The thing said it did this to a hunter before. It was you! It turned you into a chick!” Dean could not imagine Bobby as a woman. It just didn’t compute. He burst out laughing.

Sam was grinning, dimples on display.

“For bein’ idjits, you boys are too smart for your own good sometimes,” Bobby groused. “Oh, that’s right, Sam’s a girl now.”

“So you know about that from experience, Bobby? Did you have sex with a guy? I thought you were straight.” Dean jabbed.

“Boy, I’m gonna kick your ass next time I see you. Do I look like a woman to you? Do I have a little rugrat running around the house? Of course I didn’t!”

Dean was still laughing. “Of course. But it got away from you.”

“Well, what’dya expect? I’d just been turned into a woman. I wasn’t exactly focused on the hunt anymore.”

Sam snorted. “Strangely enough, I can understand that.”

Dean wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. “Aw, Bobby, you must have made one _ugly_ woman.”

“Oh, and I suppose you’d make a regular fashion model, princess.”

“Of course I’d be gorgeous,” Dean retorted. Blonde haired, green eyed, Dean would be _stunning_ as a woman. “But thankfully we don’t have to see that for ourselves. We only have to deal with a six-foot-two Samantha.”

Sam kicked him again, and fuck, that was going to leave a bruise. Dean didn’t really care. He loved it when he could rile Sam up like this.

“What happened, Bobby?” Sam asked, not deigning to respond to Dean with another witty rejoinder.

“Well, I was hunting with a partner, and we got separated. The thing pointed its hand at me, said it was going to teach me a lesson, and then wham-o, I was a girl. It told me it wanted me to experience for myself the gift of fertility that a woman brings into the world, and told me that I would seek out a man ‘to lie with’ and only if I managed to abstain would I return to being a man myself.”

Dean had a hard time imagining it, even though he’d seen part of it himself. He _still_ couldn’t picture Bobby as a woman. “Hell. What did you do?”

“Kicked my partner out and holed up for a week, didn’t step outside once. It was tough. I don’t envy you, Sam. But you gotta be strong. Otherwise, you’ll become a Mama.”

“So we just have to hide out for a week?” Sam asked, biting her—his—lip.

“Until you turn back into yourself, that’d be a good idea.”

A week alone with a horny girl version of Sam who he couldn’t fuck. Dean was so screwed. Or not, actually. _Fuck._

* * *

Bobby hadn’t been kidding, either.

Sam spent the next day on his computer doing research about the female body, for which Dean snarked, “Gee, Sam, you must not have been that good with the ladies if you have to do that much research. No wonder you never got laid.”

Sam flattened an empty soda can with his—her?—hand and chucked it at him. Well okay, then, Sam was still plenty strong and a good aim, Dean mused as he rubbed the spot on his shoulder where the can nailed him.

Eventually Sam was too focused on his computer to notice Dean peeking over his shoulder, curious for any good tips. Never a bad idea to have another few moves in his arsenal.

That night, Sam locked himself in the bathroom when he showered, and Dean distinctively heard low-pitched feminine moans through the door. Obviously, Sam was putting his research into action, and Dean was left out of the fun.

Not that he was standing there and listening, or anything. But yeah, that was the sound Sam made when he comes, just a little higher-pitched.

Dean itched to go in there and pin Sam to the wall, see if he could make Sam fall apart in this form the same way he did to Sam’s normal body. See if he was still as good with a woman as he’d been before he and Sam got together. But Sam had told him in no uncertain terms that he was to keep his dick in his pants if he wanted to keep his dick.

Dean had helpfully pointed out that there were a number of things they could do that didn’t involve fucking—he actually felt a bit scalded by the glare he received for that. As good as Sam was with a blade, Dean figured it was best not to say anything else.

No matter how much he wanted to get his hands on Sam’s gorgeous new body, Dean respected a “no” from women. It had been something John had drilled into him when he hit puberty. Always use a condom, don’t take advantage of a girl if she can’t say no, yes means yes and no means no. “If I ever hear of you forcing a girl, I’ll kick your ass to hell and back, Dean,” his Dad had said.

Dean was pretty sure that if he fucked Sam after he’d said no, his Dad would find a way to come back from the dead and put a boot print on his ass.

So, Dean jerked off outside the bathroom door while Sam had fun with all his gorgeous new girl parts in the shower.

Yup, life officially sucked.

* * *

The next day they had to get Sam clothes that fit. Just a few pieces—this would only last about a week, but Sam could hardly walk around their hotel room half-naked, no matter how much Dean was enjoying it.

Sam was currently wearing one of Dean’s t-shirts, which was still a little big for his girl body, but at least it didn’t hang off her like his own did. Dean secretly loved seeing Sam in one of his shirts—it made the possessive neanderthal part of his brain quite happy, particularly given that Sam normally wouldn’t fit into any of Dean’s clothes. Oddly enough, she still fit her own jeans, even though they were a bit loose around the legs and a touch too long.

Sam pulled on a hoodie, which swallowed her up and reminded Dean of the time when Sam was sick when he was nine and wrapped up burrito-style in the cheap motel blankets.

“Dean, quit looking at my ass and let’s go already.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean grinned.

Damn, Sam was good at those bitch faces.

It took them some time to find a store that had clothes for tall women, and Dean failed to keep his amusement to himself as Sam bitched non-stop about the panties, the bras, not knowing what size to get, and “Goddamn lace is itchy, Dean!”

Dean found the pinkest and purplest and laciest and sparkliest shirts he could and kept tossing them over the dressing room door. Sam might be freaking hot as a girl, but that didn’t mean Dean wasn’t going to give him epic amounts of shit over it.

Sam opened the door just enough to glare daggers at him and hurl a fuchsia blouse in his face.

Dean just rolled with it. “You’re right, Sammy, I think green is more your color, brings out your eyes. I’ll go find you something pretty in green or blue.”

The sales clerk seemed a bit bewildered at the round of “Jerk!” “Bitch!” that followed, and she appeared quite pleased to check them out and get them _out_ of her store.

On the way back to the hotel, Dean put in a cassette tape that he knew Sam actually liked, U2’s _Joshua Tree_. It wasn’t classic rock, but it was a classic in its own right, and Dean could put up with that if it helped to soften the scowl on Sam’s pretty face.

Sure enough, Sam’s dimples twitched, and Dean added a tally to his mental “Awesome Brother” log.

“Oh hey! Pull over here!” Sam said suddenly, startling Dean out of his self-congratulation.

“What for?” Dean asked as he parked on the side of the road.

Sam blushed. “Just gotta get something.”

Dean made to get out of the car as well, only to have Sam grab his arm.

“No, I’ll be back in a few minutes. You stay in the car, Dean.” Sam’s face was still flushed, but she was clearly serious as he slammed the car door shut.

“Alright, fine,” Dean huffed, a little miffed at being excluded. He didn’t like Sam being off doing something without him there for backup. Sam was still a well-trained hunter and was more than capable of taking care of himself—herself?—just fine. Dean knew this logically, and from experience—Sam had nearly broken the wrist of a guy who tried to grab his ass as they were leaving the store. Dean smirked at the memory. But still.

He threw in a Motorhead tape and watched Sam’s ass as she walked down the sidewalk. And then choked on his own spit when he saw him walk into an adult toy shop. About eight different emotions whipped through him—fucking hell, Sam was going to get a sex toy and Dean wasn’t there to help him pick it out, or to help him use it, or to give him shit about it! Well, he could definitely give him—her—shit about it.

Dean was going to have to settle on a pronoun. All this going back and forth between Sam as “her” and “him” was starting to give him a headache.

Ten minutes later, Sam emerged from the store, face bright red and clutching a brown paper bag.

“Men are such assholes sometimes, Dean,” Sam grumbled when he got in the Impala, rubbing reddened knuckles. “I never knew how much it would suck being a woman, and I’ve only had to deal with it for a couple of days. Christ.”

Dean was pleased that Sam was obviously defending himself, but ignored that comment. He’d decided on sticking with “him” because this being a “her” thing was temporary. No matter how female Sam looked at the moment, Sam was definitely still a guy. But no, what Dean was more interested in the moment was, “What’s in the bag, Sammy?”

Sam cocked an eyebrow at him—the pink flushing across his cheeks rather softened the look, though. “You know damned well what’s in the bag, Dean.”

Dean reached for it, grinning, only to have Sam snatch it away with a growl that was impressively low for a woman.

“So. Bobby was right about the wanting sex thing, wasn’t he? Fingers not doing the job for you anymore?” Dean couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. He just wished he could be the one giving Sam his cock.

Sam’s face darkened, muscle in his jaw clenching. “Shut up and drive us back to the motel.”

Dean would have been thrilled to hear that from Sam any other time. Normally that look on Sam’s face meant hot angry sex was on the menu. But now he knew it meant fun for Sam and agonizing torment for him. Joy.

* * *

When they got back to the motel and Sam put batteries in his fancy new vibrating dildo, Dean made himself scarce. He couldn’t be in the same room and _not_ do something that Sam didn’t want. He did catch Sam’s eyes as he walked out the door, a longing look hanging in the air between them.

“Yeah, I wish we could too, Dean,” Sam said.

“Yeah, well. Have fun.” Dean shut the door behind him and urged his partial erection down as he walked across the street to a dingy little diner. Somehow, even his usual cheeseburger and fries didn’t seem to help him feel better.

Him and Sam. Most people would call it wrong, but for them, it worked. Sam was the only thing that made sense in Dean’s life, and Dean didn’t care about anyone else’s opinion. There was no one else in the world that understood Dean like Sam did, no one else who he could imagine at his side. His entire identity revolved around Sam and hunting, and no one else could ever quite fit in that picture, or even comprehend it. That he couldn’t be with Sam while he was exploring his new female body bothered Dean, and not just because he wanted to explore Sam’s body, too. He couldn’t even explain it.

Sighing, Dean dropped a twenty on the table and headed back to the motel, hoping Sam was done with sexing himself up.

* * *

Sam wasn’t done. The moment Dean walked through the door, Sam was on him, climbing him like a tree.

“Need you, Dean,” Sam whimpered as he shoved his tongue in Dean’s mouth. “God, please.”

Dean’s entire body flared, blood galloping south. _Jesus_. Sam was never this aggressive with him in bed. It was fucking _hot_. He couldn’t help the way his arms automatically went around Sam’s naked body, hands touching, sliding, finally slaking his desire to explore Sam’s female form. Sam’s skin was so soft, and he smelled so amazing, female and sex and sweat and Sam.

Dean felt a thrill at the way Sam was squirming in his arms, begging for him. “Damn, Sammy, yeah,” he murmured into his brother’s neck as he slipped his fingers into Sam’s pussy.

He got carried away for a long moment, because fucking hell, Sam was wet and ready for him and writhed so gorgeously on Dean’s fingers. But when Sam fumbled his belt open, he remembered, a chill of shocked clarity splashing over him.

“Fuck, Sammy, no. We can’t. I promised you I wouldn’t.” He pushed Sam back, panting and trying to get control of himself.

Sam blinked at him, awareness emerging from the lust haze, and visibly struggled with himself. “Dean, it won’t stop. I’ve been trying and trying, but even after I come, it’s there again.”

Rationally, Dean knew that it was the spell, trying to force Sam into having sex. And no matter how much he wanted to rip open his jeans and thrust up inside Sam, he knew he couldn’t. He wouldn’t force his brother to live the rest of his life as a woman. And he fucking _refused_ to get Sam pregnant. Not only would it be a child of incest, but they’d be terrible parents, and the last thing he wanted was to raise a kid into the life of a hunter.

For a moment, an image floated through his mind of him and Sam, together, with a kid, retired from hunting and living as civilians, and Dean _wanted_ it. But it wasn’t this version of Sam—it was Sam as his gigantor little brother, and the kid wasn’t an inbred product their incestuous relationship. Besides, Dean honestly thought he couldn’t ever be anything but a hunter. It was a fantasy to think otherwise.

He curled his hands around Sam’s shoulders and drew him close, kissing him softly. “Get your toy, Sammy.”

Sam shivered and kissed him back before retrieving the vibrator from the bed. It was already glistening.

Dean pulled the wingback chair next to the bathroom door. “I’ll be in here. Don’t want to risk anything. Tell me what you do, what it feels like.”

Sam’s eyes widened and darkened, and he leapt at him, mouth opening against his. Dean clutched Sam to him, delved into the kiss, and then broke away, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

“Dean?”

Dean sat down on the floor, back against the door. “Yeah, Sam?”

There was silence for a moment. He imagined Sam was trying to figure out what to say. Then the vibrator turned on, buzzing lowly. For once Dean was glad for the cheap thin and hollow door in a motel room, because he could hear what was happening on the other side of it.

“Tell me what to do, Dean.”

 _Christ._ Heat rushed to his face and pooled in his groin. Dean dropped his head against the door and unzipped his pants. “Rub your clit, baby. Tell me what it feels like.”

The vibration changed pitch, and Sam moaned. “Jesus, Dean, it’s so sensitive, you have no idea. Feels so good.”

Dean fished his cock out of his shorts, wrapping his fingers around it and grunting at the shock of pleasure. “Use your other hand and play with your nipples, Sammy. You always like that. Pinch ‘em.”

Sam whined. “Holy shit, yeah…”

Dean fisted himself firmly, slowly, trying to make this last. Who knew how long this stupid spell would keep Sam going? “That good, baby?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna make yourself come?” Dean swiped his thumb across the head of his dick. _Fuck_ , that was good.

The vibration noise sped up, alternating regularly. “Mmhh, yeah…”

“Do it. Rub your clit until you come.”

Sam was panting, letting out tight little moans. “Fuck, Dean! Unnngghhmmff!”

“You coming, baby?”

Sam just whimpered.

Dean jacked himself harder. Holy _fuck_ , this wasn’t going to take him much longer. Fire was simmering in his pelvis, sparking along his veins. “Now stick that vibrator inside of you, Sammy. Fuck yourself on it.”

“Oh, Jesus.” Sam’s voice devolved into unintelligible groans.

“Now rub your clit some more with your fingers while you’re fucking yourself.”

“Oh my god, Dean, OH!”

Dean grunted, holding himself on the edge of orgasm. “Fuck yeah, Sammy. You gonna come again?”

Sam’s only response was a long, shaky wail.

And that was it, Dean exploded into his hand, body twitching with the bursts of his climax as white flared behind his eyelids. “Oh Jesus fuck, Sam.” Everything disappeared for a moment as he rode it out and slowly came down.

He could hear Sam breathing heavily through the door. “Sam? You alright?”

Sam chuckled, voice high and breathy. “That’s affirmative, Dean.”

Dean smirked. “Feel better?”

“Oh yeah.”

* * *

The next morning, Dean woke up wrapped around Sam. This was hardly unusual, so it took him a couple of minutes to figure out what was different about the situation. For one thing, he had his boxers on, where he usually he slept naked with Sam. His brother was…

His brother was his brother again. Dean blinked as his mind tried to process. It was Sam, normal as ever, long body taking more than his fair share of the bed, muscles lax in sleep, morning wood clearly visible under the sheets.

Sam was back to being a guy. That wasn’t supposed to happen for a few more days at least. But if he was back to being male, then that meant they weren’t risking pregnancy anymore. Thank _god_.

They’d gone a couple more rounds last night, separated by the bathroom door, until the the spell finally released Sam from its grip. Dean had never come so hard and so often in one night just from his hand. Sam sure seemed to enjoy it, too, and they’d passed out together, clothed and blissed out.

Dean brushed his hand up Sam’s rib cage, coming to rest on his shoulder, which he shook. “Sam, wake up. You need to see this.”

Sam woke up almost instantly. “Mwha?” His eyes widened at the deep rumble to his voice, and he sat up, looking down at his body, astonishment all over his face. “But… Bobby said it would last a week!”

Dean shrugged. “Guess I ganked the monster before it could do the full whammy and you only got half a dose.”

“Well, whatever the reason, I’m relieved. Being a woman was fun—damn, the orgasms were awesome—but I’m glad to be me again.”

Dean grinned as he pushed Sam back down into the mattress, nestling himself between Sam’s thighs. “Guess what this means?”

Sam clearly had an inkling of Dean’s train of thought. “What?”

“I do get to play with you and your vibrator, after all. Show you the good tricks.” He waggled his eyebrows.

Sam’s eyes glittered as he took on the challenge. “Oh, you think _you_ know the good tricks?”

It was so _on_.


End file.
